


Unknown

by atom2



Series: poetry for sport [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Implied Hate Sex, M/M, Pining, Poetry, i guess, lots of things are implied actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 16:24:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18705973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atom2/pseuds/atom2
Summary: I kissed you before, but I didn't do it right.In other words, Max Pacioretty and Mark Stone's complicated relationship gets even more complicated.





	Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> what started off as a fic turned into a poem. have at it. analyze it in english class, i don't know.
> 
> the "loss" is Game 7 of the 2019 Western Conference Quarterfinals.
> 
> oh yeah, this is in Mark's perspective.

tongue tied,  
tongues tied  
a kiss of death we bestow  
upon each other like star-  
crossed lovers,  
but a lover is the last thing you'll be.

 

pierce my skin with razor-sharp  
nails, tear at the muscle  
with your teeth, pluck  
bones from my ribs like i'm your  
feast. rip my heart out, eat it,  
consume me  
own me  
i beg of you!  
my knees ache because i deserve it.  
you told me so! you struck me and promised to  
show me how to play your game  
and while i am not a master,  
the shape of your mouth says otherwise.

  
this does not mean anything, you lie.  
you always come back.  
you claim to forget,  
but there you stand,  
in my own land, wanting your boy  
again:  
wanting me again.

  
blood is washed off the fingers  
that introduced me to ecstasy. to  
the touch of a man that  
never let me finish.  
you left me hanging once again.  
i am doomed, and you  
thrive. of course you thrive  
while i succumb to the unknown future of  
people i don't trust.

  
i miss the distraction of  
you,  
nightly headaches that could be  
soothed by your hands  
rough with time  
and things unknown to me.  
make me cry again  
please?

  
when i follow, i  
do so unknowingly.  
a city of lights has too much promise,  
i want my eyes to sparkle like  
they used to.  
and my eyes, oh what gifts they are!  
what wonderful things they have  
shown since my liberation!  
i am not free from  
you, for i have returned to you,  
but i am free from pain.  
there is nothing stabbing my  
temple, of peace and of body;  
nothing i must redeem myself for.  
i just get love  
and i give love back.

  
we collaborate, uncomfortably.  
i watch you as an equal.  
you do not spit in my  
mouth, nor do you plug false promises  
into it.  
your smile is soft, aged,  
cured by life.  
yes, i tell you truthfully,  
i'd like to go home.

  
somewhere, deep  
in the past, our touch would have  
been limited by time  
or boundaries.  
like you were, it's  
not true.  
there's luxury in the place i  
lay, the words that fall from your lips;  
the new purple gift on the back of my neck.  
we do not bite each other's  
tongues, but we taste them.  
you're bittersweet cocoa and i'm raw honey,  
tender concepts dancing like  
a sugar cube melts in one's mouth.  
as my remaining purity is extracted, you  
settle my heart back into the  
valley you stole it from.  
gently used, but refurbished.

  
and through our deepest loss,  
we manage peace.  
yes, not 'you', not 'me',  
not 'yours', or 'mine', but _we_.  
we wade through a mistake, try to sift out  
our truths from the lies  
of our brothers.  
when _you_ lied to me you did it because of  
shame. you told that to the bed sheets the same night your lips admired the tip  
of my nose and the length of my collarbone  
out of obligation.  
true admiration comes in the aftermath:  
when the dog sighs,  
when the sun takes a break from  
calling our names. something just for you to piece together.  
you never noticed how  
deep the ridges in my bark have grown  
until now, more aged flesh exposed as  
we undress.  
i forget to do the chores. instead,  
i let the long night expire in our bed.  
the activity is merely shutting our eyes, and  
letting your warmth take me away.

  
come with me, i say,  
and you follow.  
how many people know now?  
strangers' eyes have witnessed us, not  
loving, but living.  
how close is it to love?  
if it wasn't love, you wouldn't  
let your thighs get stuck to the plastic seat  
beside mine. you would deny  
your veins the electricity pumped  
through with each burst of fireworks.

  
you wouldn't take me to your home.  
as you show me the floorboards a  
chubby-legged toddler-you  
waddled on, i find your mother is my favorite type  
of evil. not malicious or brooding, but  
a heart coated in gold with a playful bite that  
can read my lips when she asks  
how we got together:  
ha...te...fuck...ing  
your blush is filled with embarrassment and you  
clench your teeth, but it's  
brushed aside when i rub your back and  
kiss the stubble crawling down your cheek  
as you wash the dishes.

  
you tell me you  
love me on a porch  
with wood dampened from the  
rain drumming the roof and  
dripping from the gutters.  
you find comfort in my shoulder and  
my respective meditation comes with our thighs  
barely touching, a protective  
hand on your knee.  
my king,  
my knight with a sword of  
scars,  
i've grown up.  
a lover you always will be.


End file.
